


And I'll Never Let You Fall

by Nicnac



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but in my heart, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley is femme nonbinary, F/M, Female Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Thumbelina AU, and Aziraphale is agender, its just that neither of those things come up in the fic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: Don Bluth's Thumbelina AU featuring the end scene from the movie, with Crowley as Thumbelina and Aziraphale as Prince Cornelius.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	And I'll Never Let You Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I wrote this fic for two people, me and poetic_nonsense. Everyone is welcome to come enjoy, but I apologize for nothing. This isn't even the most cursed AU idea I've come up with just in the past month, really.
> 
> (Also, Thumbelina is an excellent movie, and one of the more wholesome fictional narratives about someone with a disability out there, fight me.)
> 
> (Also also, before anyone asks Anathema and Newt are *European* swallows 😉)

“There it is,” Newt called, and he and Anathema began flying toward a tree above the field Newt had indicated. Crowley, suspended on the leaf-and-string swing the two swallows held between them, watched closely as the tree branches came closer, to make sure she could sick her landing. She didn’t fancy fumbling the dismount and falling all the way down to the ground below. Unfortunately, Newt let go of his side just a little too early, and Crowley ending up tripping and falling to her hands and knees, though she did manage to stay on the branch at least.

To be fair, it wasn’t entirely Newt’s fault that Crowley had fallen. She probably would have been able to catch her balance despite the stumble if she’d had a chance during her mad dash to freedom to change back into her normal clothes first, rather than being caught up in her awful wedding dress. Not that Crowley objected to dresses in general; she enjoyed dresses and skirts, especially on the days when she was feeling more feminine. She just objected to this particular fluffy, flouncy, frilly monstrosity of a dress. Really, that she had agreed to wear it to her wedding might be more inexplicable than her agreeing to the wedding in the first place.

She was never getting her pants – her favourite pair of red pants – back either, was she?

All told, Crowley’s previously ecstatic mood was already starting to sour by the time she’d gotten her bearings enough to see where exactly Anathema and Newt had brought her. “This is a weed patch,” she said.

“This is the Vale of the Fairies,” Anathema countered. “Can’t you feel the energy in the air?”

“All I feel is the cold,” Crowley snapped. She glanced over at Newt, who despite his clumsiness did seem to be more sensible than Anathema was. “Can you please tell her this is not the Vale of the Fairies, and there is no ‘energy’ in the air?”

“But this is the Vale, or at least this is where the deer said it was,” Newt replied. “And if Anathema says she can sense energy…”

Crowley made a noise of disgust. “You’re being ridiculous, the both of you. Look, we came out here like you wanted, and there are no fairies, so will you take me home now like I asked?”

“No, no,” Anathema said, as she flitted about from branch to branch, hardly paying any attention to Crowley at all, despite claiming she was doing this to help her. “There are definitely fairies here. We just need to figure out how to wake them up and then—”

“Stop it!” Crowley yelled. She stamped her foot, feeling ridiculous and childish for it, but unable to help herself. “Just stop it, and listen to me for once. I want to go home. I don’t care about fairies or wings or any of that anymore. I just” – she sobbed – “I just want to go home.”

Crowley held herself tightly, straining to hold back the tears and failing miserably. What was wrong with her? She used to be strong and capable. No matter what was going on, she could put on a confident air, or at least fake a confident air, and handle it. But lately it seemed like she was breaking down and weeping constantly, over the stupidest little things even, and she just really, really wanted her mom.

She gave a little startled gasp when suddenly Newt landed right next to her, and tucked her up between his wing and his body. “You said you were cold,” Newt said awkwardly, when Crowley gaped at him in confusion. “I don’t know how to fix everything else you’ve been going through, but I know everything feels that much worse when you’re cold.”

Crowley looked down. “Thank you,” she said softly. She was cold, much colder than she had realized. She’d been so excited to see the sun again, she hadn’t properly noticed the biting winter temperatures until now, when her body was slowly starting to warm back up again. And the warmth really did make her feel just a little bit better.

A moment later, Anathema settled down on the other side of Newt’s wing, draping her wing over Newt’s back and creating a cocoon for Crowley between the two of them. “I’m sorry. I get carried away sometimes,” Anathema said.

“’S’alright,” Crowley said. She wasn’t sure that it was really, but she was cold and tired and didn’t want to fight about it. Instead she sat down, her knees tucked up inside her stupid poofy skirt and her body tucked under Newt’s wing and between Newt and Anathema’s bodies, and worked on getting warm.

As she warmed up, Crowley tried to recapture her good mood from earlier. She’d gotten to declare no to a marriage at the last possible second while standing at the altar, which was one of the most satisfyingly dramatic things she’d ever done; she’d gotten to tell off Gabriel and Beelzebub and Lucifer all in rapid succession; she’d freed herself from the dark hole underground and gotten to see the sun again; and she’d had a grand, self-affirming epiphany, all not that long ago. She should be overjoyed. Instead she was just tired. So very tired.

As nice as it might have been to sit there pressed between the two swallows until it was warm outside again, she couldn’t very well stay on this tree branch until the spring came. So after a while, once she was as warm as she was going to get without a roaring hearth, a pile of blankets, and a bowl of something hot, she stirred from her vague stupor and asked, “Will you take me home now?”

“Sure we will,” Newt said, but Crowley could feel Anathema fidgeting on the other side of his wing.

“What,” Crowley demanded flatly.

“Sorry, no, I promise if you want to go home right now, we’ll take you,” Anathema said, “but… Well, this is the Vale of the Fairies. And I’ve been thinking about it and I’m pretty sure if you sing, that’ll wake them up. But if you’d rather just go home, we can.”

Of course it would be singing. It seemed like that’s all she’d done lately, all that anyone wanted her for. “You have such a lovely voice, Crowley.” “Why don’t you sing us a song, Crowley?” “Perform for us, Crowley, regardless of your own personal feelings on the matter.” She wasn’t a person, she was a voice with a pretty face and a pair of legs attached to it. She used to love singing. She probably still did, somewhere deep down. Just not right now.

On the other hand, what if this really was the Vale of the Fairies? It looked like an ordinary weed patch, but Gabriel had practically dug himself a whole sprawling village hidden underground; who was Crowley to say what might or might not be buried beneath the snow here? She wasn’t really interested in trying to get involved with the fairies anymore, but maybe she would change her mind again later. It would be better to at least meet them now, just in case. And maybe she’d even get a chance to talk to Aziraphale’s mother for a little bit. She thought she might like that.

One more song then. She could manage that. Just one more song.

She opened her mouth and began to sing. “You will be my wings. You will be my only love.” That was as far as she got before nearly choking on a sob.

“Home now?” Anathema asked.

“No. No, I just need to…” Pick a different song probably. But she didn’t want to do that, she refused to do that.

Crowley slipped out of her spot between the other two and moved over to another nearby branch where she could stand on her own. She closed her eyes, and the world around her – the sharp winter chill, the snow-covered weed patch, the rustle of the wind through bare tree branches – was gone. Instead she was flying through a moonlit autumn night. There were a strong pair of arms wrapped around her and a warm chest pressed to her back. She knew if she looked over her shoulder, she would see him there. Aziraphale, smiling at her, bright and beautiful, like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at, the only thing that mattered. With his voice ringing counterpoint in her ear, she sang.

It worked, for a minute. For a minute, Crowley lost herself in the music. For a minute, she went back to that night when she had truly believed her happily ever after had come at last. Back to the night when she’d had Aziraphale. Just for a minute.

“Every day you’ll take me higher—”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, her breath expelling in a sudden gust. So stupid. What a stupid little person she was. What stupid promise for Aziraphale to make. As though she hadn’t been falling from the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

“Let’s be practical,” Crowley said to the other two. “It doesn’t matter if this is the Vale of the Fairies or not. I’m not a fairy. And Aziraphale is never coming back.”

“And I’ll never let you fall.”

It was an illusion, a hallucination, she’d finally cracked from all the stress and was imagining things, Crowley told herself as she whirled around. All of her attention immediately and completely focused in on him. Aziraphale. Aziraphale was standing right there looking more real and solid than he ever had in her fantasies. But it had to be a fantasy, because he was— he couldn’t possibly be—

“Hello, dearest,” he said. “Terribly sorry for being late.”

She laughed, a wet, desperate sound. What an absurd thing to say. Far more ridiculous than anything she could have come up with, while still being exactly the sort of thing Aziraphale would say, and oh God, it was really was him. He was really here. She hiked up her skirt and ran.

Aziraphale met her halfway, lifting her up in the air and spinning her around. As soon as he’d set her down again, she latched onto him, tucking her face in against his neck and holding on as tight as she could. “They told me you were _dead_ ,” she said.

“Ah, well there was a little bit of a mishap with a pond that happened to freeze at precisely the wrong moment,” Aziraphale said. “But I didn’t let that stop me. After all, I did promise you I’d come back.”

What a stupid, beautiful, wonderful, perfect person. It really wasn’t fair. Crowley grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, because she couldn’t not.

His expression afterward was flushed red and dazed with affection and happiness, but Crowley hardly got a moment to enjoy it before something strange began to happen. The rips and tears her dress had gotten in the course of her escape repaired themselves, and then the whole dress began to change. The whole thing pulled inward, taking on a sleeker silhouette and the off-white greys turned to warm creams and golds while the lavender insets became a rich red. And there was one other change to the back of the dress that she couldn’t see, but assumed must have happened to make room. Because one second Crowley was standing with her feet firmly planted and the next, she was floating up in the air, courtesy of—

“Wings,” Crowley exclaimed. “I have wings.” She gave a wordless shout of glee and shot straight up into the air. She began darting about this way and that, twisting, turning, tumbling through the air. She had wings. She was free. No more being constantly thwarted by a world that was too big for her. No more getting lost and being unable to find her way because she couldn’t see where she was or was going. No more getting stuck just because she’d been left on a lily pad in the middle of a stream. No more being snatched and carted off high in the air and being unable to escape. No more being reliant on other people to take her where she wanted to go and not being able to do anything about when they went elsewhere. No more needing someone else to be her—

Aziraphale. She might not need him to be her wings, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want him in any and every way she could have him. She looked back downward and her eyes instantly locked onto him. He’d drifted a fair bit up from where she’d left him, but was apparently content to stay out of her way for the moment, watching her with open fondness and elation at her joy.

Crowley did a quick about-turn and began hurtling down straight at him. Aziraphale watched her coming, clearly not alarmed in the slightest. Fair enough, as at the very last second Crowley diverted her dive to pass alongside and then swing around behind him, briefly trailing her fingers along his back. She stopped again when she was a few feet away, regarding him over her shoulder with eyebrows raised in challenge. Aziraphale grinned and gave chase. Soon there were two of them darting about the sky, twisting, turning, and tumbling around and past each other. Finally, Aziraphale managed to catch her, and Crowley turned around in his arms so they were facing each other, smiling and breathless with laughter.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s heart soared.

“I—”

“Aziraphale!”

Both Aziraphale and Crowley looked down toward the voice. It appeared Anathema and Newt had been right about the Vale of the Fairies after all. While Aziraphale and Crowley had been flying about overhead, the whole weed patch had burst into a premature spring, and there were fairies flitting about everywhere. In the centre of all the activity was a woman dressed especially fine with her head tilted up toward the two of them. She was too far off to read her facial expression, but Crowley was willing to bet it was a mixture of annoyed and amused.

“Just a minute,” Aziraphale called down before looking up at Crowley sheepishly.

“Finally going to get to meet your mother, am I?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. There’s just one thing first.” Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s left hand, holding it up and gently stroking his thumb over her ring, the ring he had given her, the ring he had specifically placed on her ring finger on her left hand. Crowley’s breath caught.

“I’ve already told my mother all about you, of course,” Aziraphale said. “I told her that very night. And it was as I was telling her that I realized I had forgotten to ask you something very important when I gave you this ring.”

“You _forgot_?” Crowley demanded. All this time she’d been desperately wondering if he had meant what she thought he had, putting his ring on that particular finger, and it turned out he had just forgot to ask her?

“Yes, well, I can be a bit hopeless at times, I’m afraid,” said Aziraphale. “I guess it’s for the best that you found that out now, before I ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “The answer to your question is yes.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet,” Aziraphale protested.

“Right, of course, go ahead,” Crowley said, gesturing in invitation with her right hand.

“Crowley, will you mar—”

“Yes.” Aziraphale glared at her, and Crowley gave an apologetic wince. “Sorry, sorry. Shutting up now.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He paused dramatically. “Dearest. Darling. My heart’s only. Light of my life. My tempting siren. My beautiful angel.”

“You’re an angel,” Crowley muttered, which had the advantage of being true, but admittedly didn’t do a great job at calling him out for how deliberately obnoxious he was being. “An angel and a bastard.” There, better.

Aziraphale chuckled, pleased with himself. Angelic bastard. “And you’re…” His expression softened to one of heart-rending fondness. “And you are the most stunning, clever, charming, witty, confident, beautiful, amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“Ngh,” said Crowley.

“I never would have thought it possible for someone to be my opposite in every way and yet more like me than anyone I’ve ever met, and yet here you are. And now I can’t imagine my life without you,” Aziraphale said. “You are so vibrant and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to keep up with you, but I would consider it a privilege if you would let me spend the rest of my life trying.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley said, trying to pretend she wasn’t about to cry, _again_. She wasn’t terribly successful. “I would wait for you. Whenever you needed, for however long it took, I would wait for you. I love you too.” She reached up to quickly wipe under her eyes. “You don’t know if you’d be able to keep up, honestly. Of course we’d go together. Anywhere we want to go.”

“Thank you,” he said, hushed and awed.

“Don’t _thank_ me,” said Crowley. “Just ask me your question already.”

He chuckled. “Will you marry me?” Aziraphale said.

She kissed him, pouring all the love within her heart into the kiss. And yet she never had to fear running out, for every bit of love she gave to him, Aziraphale returned in equal measure. “Yes,” she said, resting their foreheads together. “Yes, I will marry you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are adored. Or come say hi on [tumbr.](https://nicnacsnonsense.tumblr.com/)


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